Chapter 24
TATUM
Ihurry away from the bathrooms, my pulse thundering so hard I can barely breathe, the weight of Brandon’s gaze burning between my shoulder blades.
The crowd around the bar is thick, but I shove through it, desperate to escape—to stop myself from spinning around and begging Brandon to take me back to the dorms, out of these heels, out of this night, and tuck me into bed like I’m five again.
The farther I get, the tighter my chest pulls, a vise clamping around my lungs. Is this a heart attack, or just panic dressed up as one?
Then I spot Ethan. His eyes sweep over my face before cutting past me, his easy grin dissolving in an instant. What replaces it is sharp and dangerous, enough to make my stomach plummet.
Because I don’t need to look to know who’s standing behind me.
Brandon.
Before the thought even forms, Ethan’s hand wraps around my wrist, yanking me out of the crowd, out of Brandon’s line of sight.
“Ethan—what are you—” I gasp as his fingers dig harder into my wrist, helpless to yank my arm away from him when he pauses by the double doors that lead outside.
“What the hell was that?” he demands, waving a hand toward in the direction we just abandoned.
“You’re hurting me,” I say through gritted teeth, relieved when he finally releases me.
“Were you talking to him?” he asks, his voice is low and dangerous.
“What? No!” I shake my head, rubbing at my throbbing wrist. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me, Tatum. Why the fuck was he looking at you like that, then?”
“I don’t know!” I raise my hands, then drop them. “Why don’t you go ask him?”
“Don’t get smart with me,” he snaps.
I take a calming breath, trying to get ahead of the situation. “I just—I saw him on my way to the bathroom, that’s all. I didn’t say anything to him, and then I left,” I lie. “He’s probably staring because I ignored him.”
Ethan studies my face, and I force myself to hold his gaze despite the fear bubbling in my chest. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked,” I say, desperate for him to believe me.
His throat bobs, and I can see the minute he believes me, thank god.
“You swear you didn’t talk to him?” he asks.
“I swear,” I whisper, hating myself for the lie but too afraid of the alternative. Because when it comes to Brandon, I’m quickly learning Ethan is a loose cannon.
Slowly, the tension drains from his shoulders, his expression softening as he pulls me against his chest. One hand comes up to stroke my hair as he murmurs next to my ear, “I can’t stand it when other guys look at you like that.”
“Like what?” I whisper, unsure of why my stomach is still churning, like I might be sick.
“Like they want what’s mine.”
His words?the possessiveness?should invoke something in me. Some feeling of pleasure or giddiness at the fact he wants me this much. But all I feel is . . . tired. Completely and utterly spent.
“Then let’s just go home.” I tilt my face up to his, seizing the opportunity. “Please,” I beg. “I want to go back to my room. My feet are killing me, and I’m exhausted. Any longer in these shoes, and I won’t be able to walk in the morning.”
He releases me, throwing his hands up. “Fuck, Tatum, why the hell did you wear them then?”
I flinch, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he leans into his admonishment as he motions toward my shoes. “You knew we were going out tonight. What did you expect?”
“I didn’t realize we’d be hitting six different bars,” I say, feeling the familiar swell of anger inside my chest. “No one told me I was in for a marathon pub crawl.”
“Well, that’s on you.” He shakes his head, his features contorting in disgust as the scent of his whiskey-laden breath hits me.
“I can’t just leave my friends. They came all this way to visit, and you want me to bail on them because your feet hurt?
Because you made a stupid choice with your footwear? ”
The dismissive way he says it—like my discomfort is trivial, an inconvenience to his good time—ignites something in me, and I’m done. So fucking done with all of it. Being told what to do. Think. Read. Wear. And who to talk to.
“It’s not just about the shoes,” I snap, trying and failing to stay calm.
“It’s about the fact that you haven’t considered what I want all night.
It’s about you checking out other women right in front of me, then getting mad when Brandon simply looks in my direction.
Can you even begin to realize how hypocritical that is? ”
“Oh, so now we’re back to Brandon?” He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing to slits as he rakes his gaze over me. “This is all about him, isn’t it?”
“No!” The word bursts out of me like water from a broken dam.
“This is about us—about how you treat me! You criticize what I wear, make fun of the books I read, and make light of my dreams. You made me delete my first truly viral video, and made me feel about this small,” I say holding my fingers a hairsbreadth apart.
“You tell me I’m no fun when I don’t want to drink—”
“Are you seriously doing this right now?” He cuts me off, making a show of glancing around us. “In the middle of a bar? While my friends are waiting?”
“Yes, I am, Ethan. Because I’m done.” The words should hurt, but they don’t. Instead, they feel like a huge relief the second they leave my mouth. “I’m done trying to be someone I’m not just to make you happy.”
He blinks, surprise momentarily replacing his anger. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’re over.” My voice hardens with my resolve. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“You’re breaking up with me?” He laughs like he can’t believe his ears. “Over a pair of boots?”
“No. I’m breaking up with you because I deserve better than someone who makes me feel small.
Someone who tries to control who I talk to, what I post online, and what I wear.
” I take a deep breath. “What I deserve is someone who builds me up instead of tearing me down, a man who puts my needs above his own because that’s what makes him happy. ”
“This is about him, isn’t it?” His expression darkens as he asks, “You’re leaving me for that football player?”
I laugh, sharp and humorless, pressing my hands to my temples. “You’re not even fucking listening to me!” I shout. When I turn to leave, Ethan’s hand clamps around my arm, jerking me back so hard I stumble.
“You don’t get to just walk away from me,” he spits, his face flushed an ugly red as his fingers bite into my skin.
Pain flares up my arm, and I wrench against his grip, heart pounding, when a shadow cuts through the light.
Brandon.
He steps out of the crowd, as if he’s been summoned; his jaw tight, eyes burning with a cold, controlled fury that steals the air from my lungs.
“Let. Her. Go.”